


Night Shift

by galactickitten



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bc we need more sassy young mccree ok, Diners, F/M, Female Reader, Overwatch - Freeform, Pre-Recall, Reader-Insert, he's still a deadlock member, i'm trash ok, in which mccree does not take to well to people harassing women, jesse mccree - Freeform, minor sexual harassment(?), pre-recall of overwatch, you're just trying to do your job
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 16:12:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7721377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galactickitten/pseuds/galactickitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some days you really hate your job.</p><p>And when you say hate, boy do you fucking mean it.</p><p>And having the Deadlock Gang around doesn't make it any easier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night Shift

**Author's Note:**

> help i've fallen into overwatch hell and its mccree's fault. its 5 am but i had to get this out of my system ok. enjoy some lovely young deadlock mccree :')
> 
> EDIT (8/12): wow i didn't think this one shot would blow up like it did! i've given a second chapter a thought, so if you guys would like i'd be more than happy to add one if you guys are interested! just let me know :)

Some days you really hate your job.

And when you say hate, boy do you _fucking_ mean it.

Growing up you always told everyone around about your big plans for when you got older, yet here you are; a waitress for the Panorama Diner on the now abandoned, previously scenic Route 66. You say previously because once the Deadlock Gang moved in things were never the same. All the old customers, no matter how intimidating they looked, tucked tail and ran off. No one wanted to get in there way if they wanted to stay alive. But of course you couldn't run off; this was the only job you had, and it'd take too long to find another one. Damnit you had bills to pay, like hell some rebellious punks were gonna drive you away.

So here you are, pouring coffee for another old timer passing by, stifling a yawn with your wrist. One of these days you'd get a good nights sleep, but that day seemed pretty far away at the moment. At some point these night shifts were gonna make you throw in the towel, but not today.

The truck driver grunted a thank you, taking the coffee and finishing it in one swig. You grimaced a little. Straight black coffee was not your thing, you weren't sure how some people could stomach it.

Your attention was pulled away from coffee, however, as the doors to the diner slammed open, a group of young men loudly making their way to one of the larger tables, blatantly ignoring the 'Please wait to be seated' sign. You felt your shoulders drop.

Deadlock Gang members.

This was the last, the _last_ , thing you needed right now. Your boss wasn't paying you enough to put up with them. Yes, you knew Route 66 was their base of operation, but they usually steered clear of this old run down diner. They'd rob it but that'd actually be a waste of time, considering how little traffic it gets. The thought makes you want to weep a little, especially since your rather minuscule paychecks can attest to that thought.

Nevertheless, you were still on duty. You took a deep breath, grabbed a few menus, and put on the best service smile you could as you made your way to the table.

"Hello boys," You said, passing down the menus, "can I start you guys off with anything to drink?"

"Beers fine with me." One grunted.

"Gimmie yer best shot of whiskey."

"Me too!"

"Can I get both?"

You write down their drinks and with a tiny smile retreat back to the counter. How can they drink at this time of night(day?)? You could never hold your drinks too well; you couldn't imagine trying to drink this late(early?).

You look up from the glass you were currently cleaning and find one of them staring at you. He winks, and you feel a cold shiver go down your spine. _Gross_. That guy could easily be your dad. That's just _nasty_.

You quickly shift your gaze to another one of them just to avoid eye contact with the creep. This time the man simply greets you with a small smile, tipping the brim of his hat ever so slightly with his hand.

(Holy shit it's robotic? Oh that's _cool_ ).

This ones nicer on the eyes (not that that means anything of course). You can't clearly make out his face from underneath his hat, but he's got long brown locks and a pretty full beard. You make out a piece of armor on his chest, but everything else is covered by a red patterned cloak. He looks like your typical cowboy cliche, and you'd laugh if it weren't for the fact he can probably kill you before you even notice him move.

You clear your throat, turning your attention back to the drinks as you carefully arrange them on a tray. You gently place them down on the table to avoid any spills, and once that task is done you whip out your notebook and pen, clicking it against your thigh.

"Now, what can I get you to eat?" You ask, pretending that you don't notice the vast majority of them staring at you like you're a rare steak that's just been served.

"Is your number on the menu?" One laughs, thinking he's smooth.

"Sorry, try again." You force a smile, although at this point it's probably more of a grimace. Oh well, at least you tried.

"If your number ain't on the menu, are _you_?" Another one chuckles darkly, adding a little emphasis by not so subtly grabbing part of your ass. You give a small yelp, jumping back and nearly dropping your pen. Your face burns with embarrassment, but you force yourself to keep your cool.

"Alright, I'll give you all a few more minutes then." You manage to say without stuttering before once again retreating to the safety of the counter. Part of you wants to cry, the other part wants to scream and start a fight. Neither of those options are very good when dealing with a deadly gang.

Since they're the last table left occupied in the diner, you're forced to simply stare into the kitchen to avoid looking at them until you have to go over there. At least the chef doesn't have to deal with this kinda bullshit. Maybe you should've become a chef instead. Then you wouldn't be stuck in this dilemma.

The table erupts with laughter, but you hear a voice ring out over the rest.

"Now fellas just hear me out; you shouldn't be treating women like that. 'Specially the ones that handle your food. Reckon that's how you'll get yourself poisoned."

The man with the robotic arm from before finally spoke up, breaking his silence. You smiled inwardly at the thought that he was trying to point out the others' wrongdoings. Now here you were thinking they didn't have any manners left in them.

"C'mon now, she's just some _waitress_ , no need to treat her like royalty." Another sneered, spitting onto the floor (ew? you were gonna have to clean that later, yuck), "Hell, she should be _lucky_ we haven't killed her or whoever else frequents this shithole."

You chew on your lower lip, holding back a sarcastic remark. You walk over once again, forcing out another smile and readying your pen and notebook.

"Have you boys decided then?" You try to sound polite, but there's an underlying note of sarcasm and bitterness you can't shake. It's just ingrained in you apparently.

"Yeah, I'll have me the country fried steak."

"Just a hamburger."

"Just your finest cut o' steak ma'am." One coos, "And make sure it's rare, _really rare._ "

And for added emphasis, he smacks your ass. _Hard_.

You wince, stepping backward and dropping the pen and notebook which hit the floor with a sad thump.

"Hey now, what did I just tell ya a minute ago?" The cybernetic cowboy said, tone growing serious as he eyed the other man, "Did I not make myself clear when I said ya shouldn't be laying a hand on the lady?"

"Naw boss I can't help it." He joked, and just like that he pulled you off your feet and awkwardly onto his lap, "She's just so darn _pretty_ , and she smells so damn _sweet_. Can't I just play with her a lil bit?"

You try to wiggle free, but there's no way in hell you can break free from some gang members grasp. Hell, maybe you should've tried harder in gym back in school.

"Let me go!" You try to sound tough, but it sounds more like a small shriek. He laughs, and you feel a hand slither under your shirt. Another involuntary scream, and you dig your heel into his foot. He gives a sharp yell, letting go and you drop to the floor.

"Now look here ya _bitch_ ," He grabs you by the arms, squeezing so hard your eyes prickle with tears, "I hope you know who you're goddamn _fucking_ with. So help me god you think you're funny if you think I'm gonna let ya leave here al-"

A muffled thud, and the creep slides to the floor beside you, a little trickle of blood making its way down his scalp to his cheek.

You look up to find him, twirling his gun around his pointer finger before returning it to its holster swiftly. He turns to face the rest of the group, blocking them from your view, but it only took you a split second to spot the fear clearly written on their faces.

"I gave y'all a warning. I tried to be nice." He said darkly, eyeing them from underneath his hat, hand still by his gun, "But I see you goddamn _pathetic_ bastards wouldn't know manners even if it pistol whipped you on the backside of the head. Y'all have a minute to scram outta here before I do what I did to him to all of you. So you better. Start. _Running_."

They didn't need to be told twice: like a group of scared puppies they scrambled out of the table and headed straight out the door as they hauled the unconscious member with them, leaving you and him behind. Part of you felt relieved, but you reminded yourself that this man is still part of Deadlock. It would t be surprising if he scared them off so he could call dibs. You feel your blood run cold at the thought, but thankfully that doesn't seem to be the case.

"I'm very sorry ma'am." He says softly as he turns around, removing his hat from his head and placing it over his chest, "I shoulda stepped in sooner. They've got no sense of respect for beautiful women like yourself."

The harshness in his voice from a moment ago was completely replaced by something much sweeter, much warmer, and the drastic change nearly turned your cheeks red as you were caught off guard.

You try to say something, but your heads still reeling from the sly compliment. He bends over, offering a hand (his actual hand, not the robotic one) to help you up. You look at it momentarily before accepting it, and swiftly he pulls you off the floor and back into your feet.

"Name's McCree, Jesse McCree." The cybernetic cowboy finally introduces himself, hat finding its way back to his head.

You stutter out your name, eyes gazing off to one of the dirty tables in the corner. A man throws you one compliment and you can barely introduce yourself properly, but could you blame yourself? Up close he's rather attractive, and you wanted to kick yourself for thinking one of the members of the gang that nearly made you lose your job was hot.

"Is that so? Well, that's a pretty name; suits a girl like you darlin'."

Oh, that husky voice, and that southern _drawl_. It was _so_ cliched, but you couldn't help yourself.

He makes to grab his drink from the table (simple glass of water) and finishes it off before placing it back with the other drinks left unfinished.

"I'd offer to help clean up, seeing as though those pigs managed to do quite a number on the table even without their food, but I reckon I should be heading back." He says, scratching the back of his head, and even though he's part of Deadlock, you can tell his words are sincere.

"Oh, that's alright." You try not to sound too sad that he's leaving, "It's fine. I figure you got stuff to do. Like gang stuff, I guess, right?" You chuckle awkwardly. Nice one.

He chuckles in response, and his lighthearted laugh makes part of you go a little weak. "Yeah, 'gang stuff' is one way to put it." He grins, "I promise I'll come by one of these and make it up to ya though."

"By yourself?" The words slip out before you even realize what you're saying. Why would you want a wanted man to come back here? You barely knew the guy!

McCree laughs again, one that rumbles in his chest. "That depends, do you _want_ me to come back by myself just for you, buttercup?"

You give a shy nod. "That would be...appreciated." You manage to say. You couldn't handle a group of them, but maybe, just maybe, you could handle him.

He nods to himself, heading to the door. "Alright, then it's a date." He signals with his hand as the other pushes the door open, "See ya round, sweetheart."

And just like that, he was gone.

Some days you hated your job.

But today wasn't one of those days.


End file.
